


Coming Home

by atimeforflores



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Everybody is a kid, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, autistic Scott, except stiles lydia and danny, mpreg is possible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3242039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atimeforflores/pseuds/atimeforflores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles 10 year plan did not include one kid, and sure as hell not over ten kids. But when life throws you a curve ball, you need to learn to catch. When his children's lives are put in danger he must decide if he can really be what they need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles hadn’t meant to be a father by 21, honestly. And he sure as hell hadn’t planned to have 13 kids. But life has a funny way of throwing out your plans.

If he had a pick one moment in which his life began to change, he would say that everything shifted at senior graduation. He had looked out into the audience and saw his father, the Sheriff, sitting in the front row, tears streaming down his face. He hadn’t seen his father in nearly two months, which was not an easy feat in a town as small as Beacon Hills. But there he was, freshly shaven and looking proud. Stiles had hugged him tightly after the ceremony, sobbing into his father’s shoulder and promising to be home that night. Things slowly started falling into place after that.

…

It had started with Jackson. He had met the young boy at the park one day when he was doing an essay for his online class. The four year old had marched up to him with chubby hands on his hips and demanded Stiles’ attention with a mud stained outfit and an attitude too robust for a child.

“Are you in high school?” The pudgy faced boy asked, glaring up at Stiles through his bangs.

“Uh,” Stiles had said, looking around for the boy’s caretaker, “No, I’m in college.”

The toddler had nodded his head seriously, plopping down on the picnic blanket beside him. The little boy had latched onto Stiles arm and peered at his laptop, squinting his baby blue eyes at it. He reached forward with dirty hands, only to be gently swatted away by his older companion.

“Are you going to Princeton? Mother says that I’m going to Princeton.” He said, wiggling himself into Stiles’ lap. 

“That’s, uh, great buddy.” Stiles looked around helplessly, searching for anyone to take the boy off his hands. He liked kids enough, but he just didn’t know what to do with them. What did kids even like?

“I know.” The boy answered, “I’m Jackson.”

Feeling slightly baffled, Stiles looked around, “I’m Stiles. Where’s, uh, your parents?”

Jackson pouted, “Mother and Father work. I’m here with Danielle, my nanny.”

Stiles nodded, seriously, “Well, do you want a goldfish cracker?”

…

Apparently Jackson’s parents had been furious when they had found out that Jackson had gotten away from his nanny, firing the woman on the spot. They also managed to track down Stiles and demand that he watch their children; Jackson and his two younger siblings, Erica and Isaac. They offered him a thousand dollars a week and a place to live while he finished his degree. He couldn’t say yes fast enough.

…

Stiles’ relationship with Rafael McCall had been one mistake after another. He had met the older man while bringing lunch for his father at work. Agent McCall had been called into town after a series of murders of prominent figures in Beacon Hills. With him he brought his two young sons; four year old Boyd and 18 month old Scott.

Stiles had taken in the dark brown eyes and the clever smirk, and took the agent home with him. (He didn’t know until many months later that McCall had left Boyd to take care of his baby brother alone.)

Agent McCall was a whirlwind of rough sex and an even rougher demeanor. 

Looking back, Stiles could see why it had all fallen into place. Mrs. Whittemore was the leading real estate agent in the area and Mr. Whittemore was a prolific lawyer, never known to lose a case. It made perfect sense that they were the murderer’s next target.

Stiles had taken Erica and Isaac to the playground for their birthday, with Scott, Jackson and Boyd in tow. When Stiles walked them all back to the Whittemore estate they were stopped by yellow tape and his panicking father. 

Stiles became the legal guardian of the Whittemore children, and for a little while everything was okay. The McCalls moved in with them, with a false sense of stability. Rafael would go out at days at a time, coming home reeking of beer and other women. One night, Rafael lifted a hand towards Stiles but ended up pushing down Scott instead. The baby cried and his arm was bent at an odd angle. Stiles had got his gun out and leveled it at Rafael’s chest, telling him to get out.

Stiles didn’t even notice he left until two weeks after the fact. By that time Boyd called him daddy, and no one even mentioned the missing FBI agent.

…

Allison had been a surprise. Stiles had been reading about the local dance studio going out of business when there had been a knock at his door. Standing on his stoop sheepishly was his father, and clenched in his left hand was a baby carrier. Stiles had pulled the pink blanket away from the new born baby’s face and fell in love.

Adding a baby to the mix was not easy, as Stiles soon found out.

Jackson was apathetic at best, throwing snotty glares at Allison for daring to take up his Stiles time. Isaac loved the new baby, happy to just sit in the company of Allison, and holding her bottle when she needed fed and Stiles had to do other things. Erica had not been happy when she was informed that she would no longer be the only girl and threw a tantrum the first time that Stiles called Allison ‘princess’.

Boyd didn’t lean one way or the other, tending to stare at the small girl and liken her to a potato, and Boyd would not play with a potato. Scott really didn’t have an opinion on the matter, only asking why he had to be potty trained when Allison didn’t. That was met with a flat look.

While researching Stiles had found that babies who were breast fed had been known to develop better, and Allison already had so many problems. At five days old she was diagnosed as a Failure To Thrive baby. Stiles had taken the news hard, already attached to the little girl. He had started taking supplements so he could produce breast milk, seeing that he was already a Carrier. The good thing was, the body always knew how much to produce, and would dry up by itself, when no longer used.

Allison would not sleep most times and would have to be encouraged to eat. Stiles would have to rock her and rub her stomach until she would succumb to unconsciousness. When he would feed her, he’d have to tap her bottom or her feet to remind her that she needed to eat.

Her birth father had been killed in a hunting accident, and from what he learned her birth mother just stopped taking care of herself afterwards. Allison had been delivered prematurely and her mother had just walked out of the hospital. She was later found hanging in her house.

During the pregnancy, the mother seemed to stop taking her prenatal pills which explained the early labor and Failure to Thrive. The doctors really didn’t have anything to say other than to hold her as much as possible.

Stiles would kiss Allison on the forehead and refuse to cry. On April 5th, Allison slept through the whole night and gave a gummy smile when her father picked her up in the morning. Things were looking up.

…  
The Twins came when Allison was two years old. They had been a little under a year at the time, being brought to the station after a domestic dispute which left their mother in the hospital and their father in jail. Later that night their mother, Kali, passed away. 

Jackson was the oldest at eight. And if you have never dealt with an eight year old, well, Stiles would say you are lucky. All the kids referred to Stiles in various forms of ‘dad’ now, but that didn’t mean they behaved. If he had to describe Jackson in one word it would be “brat”. Then there was Boyd, who was the second oldest at seven years old. He never really complained or asked why he was different from his siblings, just kind of shrugging his shoulders and going back to playing with his cars. After Boyd came Erica and Isaac, standing proudly at six years old. Erica had recently been diagnosed with Epilepsy after having a seizure in the middle of the grocery store. Isaac was a quiet six year old, shying away from strangers and even people he didn’t know too well. Sometimes, he still shied away from the Sheriff. Scott came after them at five years old. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Scott was a total daddy’s boy, either in his father’s arms or tugging on a pants leg. When Stiles had gotten official guardian ship of Scott and Boyd, the first thing he did was take them to the doctor. They had found a crack in his jawline; he couldn’t but wonder if that was why the young boy had a crooked jaw. Lastly was Allison, at two years old. She was a petite two year old, in her ten percentile. Stiles felt it was impossible to love them any amount more.

Ethan and Aiden were his first children of the ‘furry’ variety. They would stay up howling, clawing at their wooden cribs. Stiles noticed, however, that no matter how upset the twins were that they never hurt the human members of their ‘pack’.

…

Shortly thereafter came baby Kira. His father called him one night, with a baby crying in the background. He asked if Stiles could foster one of the babies at the hospital, and she never left.

…

Lastly came the Hales. 

Laura was the oldest at seventeen. She was a fierce, independent young woman with a scholarship to Notre Dame under her arm. Her light brown hair glinted the night she had come into Stiles’ home, her dark eyes hollow. She smelled of smoke and sorrow. Derek had stood beside her, clutching her hand like a lifeline, silent tears working their way down his cheeks. Cora was pressed tightly against his body, having passed out from exhaustion. The 15 year old silently rocked his younger sister, holding onto the embrace. With matching dark hair, Stiles at first could not discern where Derek ended and Cora began. It was when the seven year old lifted her soot stained cheeks to stare at him, when he caught his breath. Dark eyes stared back at him, lip trembling. Holding onto Derek’s leg was three year old, Malia Hale. He held out a stuffed animal he had picked up out of the entryway for the young girl, heart urging him to bring all the kids into a hug. 

(Stiles silently wept that night when he found out that Nora and Maura Hale, six, were killed in the fire along with their 9 month old brother, Eric.)

…

So for a while, everything was fine; the Hale brood was settling in nicely, and all the other kids were being very welcoming, seemingly used to new arrivals coming and never leaving. But soon enough, everything as they knew it had to come to an end.


	2. Chapter 2

In Stiles’ senior year of high school he spent three months living with the Martins. It was three months of sitting on their couch, eating their ice cream and crying into Lydia’s and, occasionally, Danny’s laps. It was three months of not speaking to his father, of not being able to go home.

So when he saw his dad sitting at his graduation he burst into tears, and when the ceremony was over he was pulled into a hug.

“Stiles,” The Sheriff had rumbled into his ear, “Please come home.”

And he did.

…

He didn’t realize that having kids was something he really wanted to do until he was laying Isaac down in his crib, Erica stubbornly clinging to his other side. Didn’t know it was something he was interested in until Jackson came home was preschool, presenting him with a crown of macaroni and declaring Stiles his favorite adult. 

He didn’t know, but when he got a clue, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit selfish.

…

The day should have been like any other, and really it had started out as such. He woke up at exactly 6:30 in the morning to Kira screaming at him from her crib, chubby arms reaching towards him and had almost tripped over one of Derek’s shirts that he left in the hallway. He started the coffee and, as usual, it tasted too watery and cheap for his tastes, and checked his phone noting the few texts he had ignored the night before from Danny and one from an hour before from Lydia. Kira gurgled up at him from where she was strapped to his chest, reaching to pull off his glasses when the first of the kids start stumbling down the stairs. It was Derek in his wolf form, both Ethan and Aiden clinging to the fur on his back.

“Derek,” He sighed, looking at the black wolf before him, “You know what I’ve said about changing in the house.”

The teenager whined back at him, gently lowering himself so the toddlers could climb off. One was holding a t-shirt and the other had a pair of boxers between his baby teeth. Stiles had to grudgingly admit that they made an adorable trio.

“Go change back,” He ordered, snatching the articles of clothing from the twins in exchange for pacifiers, “It’s almost seven; could you wake up Laura and Scott?” 

Derek whined once more before trotting off as Stiles snagged both boys and put them in their highchairs. He learned the hard way to never give them oatmeal seeing as it would go flying. Kira giggled down at them and reached for their bottles; Aiden snapped his teeth at her and Ethan held his out to her.

He laid down some sliced mangos in front of Ethan and was reaching for a banana for Aiden when he heard a loud thump from upstairs followed by a wail that was sure to wake up the rest of the house. He had to wait no more than 30 seconds until Scott was clutching the front of his shirt, a large red welt already showing up on his forehead. Derek trailed after him, a guilty look firmly in place. 

“I-I didn’t mean-,” He started to stammer, but was cut off by a gesture from Stiles.

“What exactly happened?”

Derek shifted from one foot to another, “I was teasing him with his stuffed wolf and got too far away from the bed and he leaned too far forward.”

Scott continued sobbing as Derek thrust the aforementioned toy out in front of him, looking like a man getting ready for his execution. 

“Scott, baby,” Stiles murmured, rubbing the five year old, “You need to control your breathing, or we’re going to have to go see Miss Melissa at the hospital again.”

He could feel Scott try to get his breathing to a calmer rate and waved for Derek to trade him the toy for Kira. He was pulling Scott into his arms when Laura came stomping down to the kitchen, Isaac in one arm with Erica in the other and Jackson stubbornly clinging to her leg. Cora soon followed, clutching Malia’s hand in her left and Allison’s in her right. That left just Boyd asleep, but Stiles knew as soon as he started cooking the young boy would follow his nose down.  
As Scott blew his nose into Stiles’ shirt and sobbed loudly into his ear, Stiles couldn’t help but think he would never want to be anywhere else.

…  
Laura had already driven herself and Derek to school by the time Stiles had gotten all the younger kids fed. He was sure they were starting their day when he was trying to convince Jackson to wear his red sneakers since his blue ones had gone missing. Laura had probably even managed to swear at a teacher by the time he had chased down Erica and Isaac and shoved shirts over their heads. 

When he had finally loaded them all in the van, Kira screaming because she didn’t like the carrier, he was sure they were all going to be late and he was going to look like a terrible father. He may have broken a few laws to get to the school on time.

He dropped Jackson off in the third grade wing, kissing his cheek and making his hair was perfectly styled before pushing him towards the doorway. He wasn’t expecting the young boy to dart back and hold on tightly to his neck before letting go and walking in.

After he took Boyd to the second grade wing, where Boyd held onto his hand tightly before his teacher coaxed him into the room, he took Cora to the special wing for werewolves, dropping off Isaac and Erica in the first grade wing as he went.

“Bilinski, we do have a program for preschool aged ‘wolves,” Coach Finstock tried to remind him daily, eyes sliding to Malia and the Twins. He didn’t particularly like Coach Finstock with any of his kids.

As if on cue, Malia darted forward and tried to sink her teeth into his calf.

“I haven’t weaned them off of raw meat yet,” Stiles deadpanned, looking the older man in the eye. Coach chuckled, a little nervously but Stiles didn’t crack a smile, just herding the remaining children back out to the van. 

He turned to them, expression serious, “Now, who wants to go to the park?”

…

When Stiles was in his senior year of high school he had met this guy, a guy who was in college. He thought he loved him.

But then the Sheriff found out, and he was livid. He told Stiles to break up with the boy- the man. But Stiles refused, and somehow the fight escalated and Stiles ended up on the Martin’s couch. It didn’t matter that they had seven bedrooms, he had wanted the couch.

And for a while, Stiles didn’t know what he was doing.

…

Sometimes Stiles forgets that Scott isn’t like his other kids. And other times, he just can’t.

He can’t let himself forget how Scott has to wear socks every moment of the day, or the fact that he refuses to wear shorts or open toed shoes. He can’t forget Scott’s stuffed wolf, Alfa, or the fact that Stiles is really the only person allowed to touch him. 

He can’t forget that Scott can only be around people for a certain amount of time, or that he needs to be kept on a schedule; woken up at the same time, fed at the same time, bathed at the same and put to bed at the same time. 

And he can’t forget that his baby boy loves him more than anything.

He has to remind himself of these facts after Malia had kicked sand in Scott’s face, causing Scott to blow up at the park. He knew he couldn’t stop the tantrum, could only hold Scott through it, and hope the young boy didn’t start to hit. 

He could hear his phone ringing, but decided to turn it off without even looking at the caller idea. Kira started crying from where she was sitting in her stroller, more than likely getting hungry. Both the Twins decided to join in on the commotion by walking over and growling loudly, red eyes set on Stiles. Allison pulled herself up on the bench, a hesitant handing reaching out for Scott. Stiles let out a sigh of relief as Scott grasped her hand, calming slightly. He decided that it was then lunch time for everyone and then naptime. 

They go to the little café across from the park for lunch, ordering subs and sandwiches. He had just started to breastfeed Kira when he felt a tap on his shoulder. 

“Can I help you?” He turned to face the middle aged man glaring at him.

“Yes, you can,” The man replied, glare shifting to the blanket which covered Kira as she ate, “Could you take that somewhere else?”

Stiles blinked once, and then once again before letting out a shrill, “Excuse me?”

“You shouldn’t be doing something so indecent out in public,” The man continued, ignoring the anger on Stiles’ face, “Something so unnatural.”

“You’re telling me,” Stiles began, voice wavering in fury, “That I should not feed my child?” 

The guy shifted, obviously uncomfortable, “I’m saying that you shouldn’t do it out in public. No one wants to see that.”

Stiles stood up, clutching Kira to his chest as she let out a cry from being jostled, “I’m not here for you to look at!”

He could see a few of the other customers turning to stare as he raised his voice, but he didn’t care. “I’m not here for you sick viewing pleasure! I am here to feed my children and that is it!”

The man glared back, “I’m just saying that you should go to the bathroom and do it.”

“Oh, should I?” Stiles asked hotly, “And what am I supposed to do with the other five kids? Just leave them out here? Or should I cram them into the filthy stall that you are forcing my baby and I into?” 

“Is this guy bothering you?” He turned to see the owner, Heather standing beside them.

“Yes!” The man who was bothering him said, waving at Stiles, “He won’t take that disgusting display somewhere else.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Heather said sharply, throwing a glare at him. “I can call the Sheriff, Stiles.”

“No, it’s fine,” he said, smiling at her gently, “I’m just going to finish feeding her and then its naptime.”

He turned to sit down, listening to Heather drag the other man off and telling him not to come back. He looked up to see Aiden had done a face plant into his bun, mustard smeared all over his face. Scott was sitting in his seat, but just barely and looked like he wanted to come barreling over to Stiles; he never did like yelling. Ethan was trying to grab the pieces of bread that weren’t under his brother and eat them. Allison was trying to defend her meat from a still hungry Malia.  
He leaned back, grinning at his youngest kids. He could tell today was going to be a good.

He was wrong.

…

He regretted his decision to park the car at the house and walk over to the park as all the kids whined and dragged their feet back to the house.  
He already had Kira in the stroller with the Twins stuffing themselves in the basket on the bottom of it. Allison stubbornly trotted along, but he could see her deflating as they went. Scott clung to his back as he marched, Malia growling that he wouldn’t hold her, but that was her punishment for earlier in the day. 

He faintly heard sirens off in the distance, wondering what they were for. Beside him Allison let out a sigh and decided to curl up on the sidewalk. He spent a good 20 minutes trying to convince her to get up before just picking her up and carrying her the rest of the way, having Scott walk the last half.

The sight that greeted him was not something he expected; there had to be a dozen police cars parked out front of his house and two fire trucks with multiple ambulances. In the front of the yard Derek was howling as he ripped at the grass, and for a moment Stiles couldn’t figure out why. 

And then he saw it.

The house, their house, was up in flames. 

…

He was numb, looking at the scene in front of him. Their house, the one that had everything they owned in it, was burning. Everything, gone.

He pushed through the crowd, searching for his father, for an explanation. He found him, but not in a way that he would have liked. His dad was sitting in one of the ambulances, oxygen mask firmly over his face and looking worse for the wear. He had thick soot covering his face with tear tracks cutting through it.  
“Dad?” He didn’t recognize his own voice, so timid and afraid.

His dad’s eyes shot up and he pulled away from the paramedic working on him, “Stiles!” 

Stiles held onto his dad, having passed Allison to someone who had been standing nearby, one of his dad’s deputies. 

“We thought you guys were in the house,” His dad said, cupping his face between two of his large hands.

“Stiles,” his dad whispered in an urgent tone, pulling him close, “Kate Argent escaped.”

He felt his knees get weak, and his world collapse under him, breaths’ coming in short, ragged gasps. He looked up at his dad’s grim face and knew everything had changed.

…

They sent them out to a safe house deep in the woods of California, loading every single last kid into a black van with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Not that they had anything except for that anymore. They had to get someone to retrieve the younger kids from school since the older ones got out an hour earlier than them.

The ride was long, and they got to the house when it was dark. The kids were all hungry and cranky, and by looking at the house Stiles was sure it wasn’t meant for a family as big as his. He didn’t let the kids see his lip tremble.

His father had ushered them in, locking the door behind him and the one other person he had brought.

“Stiles,” He said, catching his son’s attention, who looked like he wanted nothing more than to fall on the couch and sleep. He gestured to the guy that Stiles recognized as the one he handed Allison to earlier. “This is Deputy Parrish. He’ll be staying with you for protection.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not autistic, i am basing Scott off of my brother. If i write something offensive, or am albeist please please please, point it out and i will fix it. 
> 
> Comments fuel me.

**Author's Note:**

> I will try to update regularly but am not sure about the exact dates or flow that will be going on.


End file.
